


You're So Patient (Sick of Waitin')

by inoubliable



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: High School, M/M, No Angst, Prom, Prompt Fill, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16035074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: prompt: richie and eddie trying to hide their relationship from the losers club but they fail miserably, but the losers club plays along like they aren’t suspecting anything and then one day stan is like “it’d be a real shame if richie was dating someone, i heard that the new girl likes richie!” and eddie just kisses richie right then and there because he’s a jealous badass





	You're So Patient (Sick of Waitin')

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt fill for the Reddie Library! Send us more prompts [here](https://reddielibrary.tumblr.com/ask).
> 
> Song title from [Prom by SZA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAgzfcWAlToa) because I found that cheesy and fitting.

Looking back, it’s such a cliche.

All the sneaking around. The stolen kisses. Scaling the side of the tiny red-brick Kaspbrak house, concealed by the midnight-dark and the laugh tracks of Mrs. K’s various late-night shows.

Someone should have caught them by now. Richie’s been doing this three times a week for years, like clockwork, and he knows for a fact there’s more than one nosy neighbor on Eddie’s street. But no one ever mentions it. No one ever shows up outside to shine a flashlight on Richie’s lanky ascent to the window kept perpetually unlocked for him. Mrs. K never bursts unannounced into the room while he and Eddie are occupied with lazy kisses. She never even seems to suspect. Sure, she hates Richie on principle because he’s mouthy and dirty and a self-proclaimed bad influence, but she doesn’t flat-out ban Eddie from seeing him the way Richie is sure she would if she knew what they got up to after dark.

So maybe that’s what makes him careless. Richie isn’t stupid enough to believe they _can’t_ get caught, but it hasn’t happened yet, and yeah, maybe he’s starting to slip. Maybe his gaze has started to linger, and maybe so has his touch.

But no one has mentioned it.

Except Eddie, of course. For every bit that Richie stops worrying, Eddie worries more.

They’re lying in Eddie’s bed together, innocent despite the hand Richie has wriggled underneath Eddie’s sleep shirt. Eddie’s skin is warm, and so is his breath where it stirs Richie’s hair. Once upon a time, they both fit on this very mattress with room to spare, but that was years ago, back when they were just kids. They’re too big for it now, but it’s not like they mind being pressed together. No one can see them. They don’t have to maintain their usual distance.

Eddie’s saying something, but Richie’s only half-listening. He’s kind of drowsy, lulled by the sound of Eddie’s quiet voice and the way Eddie’s thumb drags a slow rhythm across his knuckles, back and forth. They’re holding hands. It’s something they don’t do much outside of the privacy of these four walls. It’s nice.

Eddie’s hand tightens around his suddenly, hard enough to jerk him awake. “Are you even listening to me?” Eddie demands, but he sounds half-amused. His voice is still soft, and so are his eyes. His hair is, too, and his skin. Everything about Eddie Kaspbrak is soft except for his personality and God, Richie adores him.

“Sure was,” Richie lies. “You know I think better with my eyes closed."

Eddie does not look convinced. “You were starting to snore,” he points out.

“It’s because you’re being boring,” Richie says. “We’ve already had this conversation a thousand times. I’m your dirty little secret. I get it.”

It’s one of Eddie’s favorite topics, or at least his most well-worn — their illicit relationship, emphasis on illicit. Eddie likes to spend these precious private moments together reviewing the past week, examining every detail to determine if they’re on the verge of getting caught. Richie wants to remind him — like always — that they’ve been doing this for almost eight months and nobody’s figured it out yet, but Eddie likes to be prepared. So Richie lets him talk. But it’s getting sort of stale.

A tiny wrinkle slices through the smooth skin between Eddie’s eyebrows. “You agreed,” he points out. Eddie gets like this sometimes, gets worked up over stupid stuff. He’s right. Richie agreed to keeping things secret. He’s not bitter about the decision. He gets it — a secret is only a secret in Derry if it’s kept from everyone. Otherwise, Mrs. K will find out. And if Mrs. K finds out, that’s it. That’s the end. Eddie will be locked away in his tower until he’s eighteen, which is only a year away, but would feel more like a decade if they were forced apart. Richie can keep things quiet for another year. He’s done it this far.

Besides, it’s not like Eddie _wants_ to keep it a secret. He’s assured Richie of that over and over and over again. “I’d yell it from the rooftops, if I could,” he said once, and had looked so astoundingly sincere that Richie couldn’t even make a joke of it.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Richie says and rolls over, half-squishing Eddie into the mattress, his face tucked against Eddie’s throat. He feels the thrum of Eddie’s heart, smells where he’s clean and soft. “I just wish we could at least tell our friends.”

Eddie sighs. He pulls his fingers through Richie’s hair. It tugs a little, but Richie doesn’t complain because having Eddie’s hands on him is something he doesn’t get nearly enough of. “I know,” Eddie says. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He’s right. It isn’t, not if they want to keep things quiet. But Richie has never, ever kept a secret from the Losers before, and sometimes it sits at the base of his throat, clawing to get out. He’s managed not to say anything yet, but really, it’s only a matter of time.

* * *

So it goes like this.

They’re careful. They’re so very careful. But sometimes, they slip. They’re teenagers. They’re in close proximity almost all the time. Shit happens.

So yeah, maybe sometimes they sit too close together. Or maybe sometimes Richie’s hand lingers on Eddie’s shoulder. Or maybe sometimes Eddie will jump onto Richie’s back and the way he presses his face into Richie’s hair is strangely intimate.

No one mentions it. It’s just one of those things, you know? The Losers are used to it.

But sometimes…

It’s a Thursday after school. Eddie has track practice, but it hasn’t started yet. They’re at the field, behind the bleachers — cliche, remember? They’re kissing. No one’s around. They’ve made sure.

No one catches them. No one ever catches them. They’re good at this. They’ve boiled it down to a science. If they’re the first out of their last period and they don’t bother to stop by their lockers, they can make it to the field in time to make out for a good ten minutes before anyone else starts filtering out.

But this time, they’re only about four minutes in when the bleachers above their heads rattle fiercely. They jump apart. Eddie wipes his mouth hurriedly, as if someone would be able to see the remnants of spit and identify it as Richie’s. As if there’s any hiding it. Their lips are red and kiss-bruised, and Richie’s hair is fucked.

But when Beverly puts her head underneath the bleacher seats and stares down at them, she doesn’t mention that. “Hey!” she says, sounding bright and surprised. Not at all suspicious. “What are you guys doing out here?”

Richie and Eddie very carefully do not look at each other.

“Waiting for practice to start,” Eddie says. He shrugs a shoulder, looking incredibly stiff about it. “Richie walked me down here.”

Richie grins. “What can I say? I’m a gentleman like that.”

Bev smirks, looking rather sly about it. “Must be why Rita Benson’s so into you.”

Richie quite honestly has no idea who that is. He’s never heard that name before. “What?”

“The new girl. She’s in my second period.” Bev’s smirk widens and her voice lilts, going sing-songy and annoying. “She asked me about you.”

Richie didn’t even know there was a new girl.

“Please tell me you said I’m horrible and she should leave me alone,” he says, hoping against hope.

“Nope,” Bev says, popping the _p_ , looking horribly smug. “I told her you’re an idiot and a jackass and that you’re totally, completely single.”

“Practice is about to start,” Eddie says suddenly. His shoulders are tight, and so is his smile. “I better go.”

“Have fun,” Beverly says. Richie wants to say something, too, but everything he can think of is inappropriate in front of present company, so Eddie disappears from behind the bleachers without another word. Richie stares after him until Bev drops an unlit cigarette onto his head with impeccable aim. “Come have a smoke with me,” she says.

He doesn’t have anything better to do until it’s time to sneak through Eddie’s window that night, so he does.

* * *

The problem is, Eddie’s a jealous kinda guy. He doesn’t let things go. He’s stubborn, and spiteful, and Richie loves him more than anything but he’s getting tired of hearing about Rita _fucking_ Benson.

He doesn’t even know the girl. He’s never seen her, not once. She’s not in any of his classes. But she has somehow managed to develop a fairly massive crush on him. One she’s apparently not shy about sharing.

On Monday, she asks Bill what Richie’s type is.

The next Wednesday, she hints to Ben that she’s just shy, that she’s working up the nerve to talk to him.

The week after that, there’s a handwritten note shoved in his locker, all loopy girlish handwriting, framed at the edges by several doodled hearts. Richie shows it to his friends at lunch, then tries to throw it out, but Eddie insists he should keep it.

“At least someone’s giving you attention,” he says. “I know you love that.” There’s something so secret and meaningful in his eyes that Richie almost slips. But in the end he just crumples up the paper and tosses it out with the remnants of his lunch.

“You could leave me secret locker notes,” Richie points out that night on the phone. He has too much homework for any late-night sneaking out, but he refuses to go a full night without Eddie’s voice in his ear. He’s whipped, okay?

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a very long time, probably making sure his mother can’t hear him over the din of the television. When he speaks, his voice is very quiet. “I don’t want to leave you notes,” he says. “But I don’t want her to leave you notes, either. I want her to leave you alone.”

“You know it doesn’t mean anything, right?” he says. “She doesn’t mean anything.”

Eddie goes quiet again. Then he says, “Don’t you want something you don’t have to hide?” His voice is shaky and wavering.

And oh. _Oh_. Richie suddenly understands.

“Baby,” he murmurs, a name that sounds foreign and delightful in his mouth. He doesn’t get to say it nearly enough. “I’d rather have something secret with you than have a million girls leaving notes in my locker.”

Eddie makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “A million girls? That’s a lot of ass to turn down.”

“Did you just… reference the phrase ‘piece of ass’?” Richie asks, delighted. “I really am rubbing off on you!”

“If you’re gonna start talking about rubbing off on me,” Eddie says, and he sounds less upset. More playful. “I’m gonna cut this conversation short.”

“Aw, but it was just getting good!” Richie cries. He pitches his voice unnaturally deep. “Tell me, gorgeous, what’re you wearing?”

“Goodnight, Richie,” Eddie says, sweet laughter in his voice. Richie’s grinning when he hangs up the phone.

They’re okay. They’re good.

* * *

 

So of course, it doesn’t last long.

Mike is the last one to sit down at their lunch table. He’s always the last out of his forth period because he’s a nerd who actually enjoys history. The rest of the Losers have given up on waiting for him, because more than once he’s been gone for half the lunch period, caught up in some dusty book somewhere.

But today he’s practically on time, only a few steps behind Bill.

“I have news,” he says, setting his lunch tray down on the table between Bev and Eddie. He always sits between them because it’s the only place his broad shoulders fit comfortably.

“You’re gay,” Richie says, at the exact same time as Bev says, “You’re pregnant.”

They reach across the table and high five each other.

“No,” Mike says, pointing his fork in Bev’s direction. Then he waves it at Richie and says, after a moment’s consideration, “Half no.”

Richie squints at him. “Did you… just… come out?”

“Yup,” Mike says, easy as anything. “Getting it off your chest is that easy.” He maintains eye contact with Richie, giving him a meaningful look that Richie doesn’t actually understand. Richie thinks he’s been pretty out-and-proud about his attraction to guys, but now that he’s thinking about it, he’s never actually said it out loud. Was he supposed to?

“Oh,” Richie says, nodding. “Me, too. Half gay, I mean.”

“Bisexual,” Bev supplies.

Richie waves a hand. “Yeah, that.”

Mike blinks at him. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “We know.”

So maybe that’s not what that look meant. Richie is officially lost.

Eddie clears his throat. He’s been out since eighth grade, but he still gets a little twitchy about the topic, like Mrs. K has somehow infiltrated the Derry High cafeteria and is listening in. “What’s the big news, Mike?”

Mike looks at him, then glances at Stan, then stares at Richie. “Rita’s gonna ask you to prom,” he announces.

Eddie drops his fork. It’s plastic, so it doesn’t make a big clatter, but Richie watches it happen out of the corner of his eye. He wants to focus on it, but as soon as he glances in Eddie’s direction, Eddie’s steadfastly not looking at him.

“How do you know?” Richie asks.

“I heard her talking about it,” Mike says. “She’s in my third period.”

Which doesn’t make sense to some clinical, backseat brain cell. Bill just mentioned the day before that Rita was doodling Richie’s name in her English notebook. Bill has English third period.

“Second period,” Stan corrects before Richie can ask. “Rita’s in your second period.”

“Right. Second period.” Mike waves a dismissive hand. “That’s not the point."

Richie’s not at all surprised that Stan knows which classes they all share with Rita. He’s just like that, all notes and lists and spreadsheets. He probably has a chart written down somewhere.

The surprising part is that no one’s making a big deal out of this. They’re all just staring at him, like they’re…

Oh. They’re waiting for _him_ to make a big deal out of it.

Well. He’s not going to. It’s _not_ a big deal.

“That’s kinda weird, isn’t it?” he says, shoveling a bite of corn into his mouth mid-sentence, speaking around it. “I mean, she’s never even talked to me.”

Eddie kicks him under the table with such force all of their trays tremble. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he says sharply. Richie swallows and bites back the ‘yes, dear’ he wants to say. It doesn’t feel like the time.

“She’s shy,” Bev says, shrugging. “I’m not surprised.”

“She’s not too shy to ask me to prom,” Richie points out.

“She’ll probably do what she did last time,” Ben says. “Leave a note in your locker or something.”

“And she thinks that’s enough to make me say yes?” Richie asks, trying to sound wounded, a hand clutched over his heart. “Do I really seem that desperate? I need a production. A big ole scene. It’s the least I deserve. I’m a classy lady, damn it.”

Eddie stands suddenly. “I gotta finish my chem homework,” he says, pulling his backpack onto his shoulder.

Richie watches him disappear out of the lunchroom. His friends are talking, but he’s not listening to them. His hand is still pressed over his heart, and he can feel the pounding, aching beat of it.

* * *

 

Richie assumes Rita’s impending question will hang over his relationship with Eddie like a cloud, dark and ominous, but for the most part it’s like nothing has changed. Richie still sneaks into Eddie’s bedroom, and they make out and talk quietly in equal measures, and they somehow manage to completely avoid the topic of this mysterious girl who is inexplicably obsessed with Richie. Eddie seems to be ignoring the issue. He’s good at that. Richie doesn’t mind. It’s not like he’s all that worried about it. Rita’s going to ask him out, and he’s going to turn her down, and that’s going to be that.

And then he shows up to school on Monday and his locker is destroyed.

Well, maybe that’s dramatic. It isn’t _destroyed_. But it certainly has been vandalized. It’s covered top to bottom in pastel pink Post-It notes, hundreds of them, and every single one says “Will you go to prom with me?”

The handwriting is big and looping and familiar. Not familiar like Rita’s note, but like something else entirely.

He hasn’t quite placed it before Eddie is there, leaning against the locker beside Richie’s. He’s barely concealing a smile.

“Well, someone must like you,” he says.

“Yeah,” Richie says, sounding a little dazed. He picks one of the sticky notes off the locker and inspects it more closely. “She’s enthusiastic, that’s for sure.”

Eddie lifts an eyebrow. He’s not bothering to hide his smile anymore. “She? How do you know it’s a she?”

Richie looks at him. “It’s Rita,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very sure of himself. Eddie doesn’t say anything, staring back at him, and something slides quietly into place. He glances down at the note, then back at Eddie. “Wait. Did you —”

Eddie’s face is a little pink but he’s brave as always, tilting his chin up to look at Richie full-on. “How ‘bout it, Tozier? Will you go to prom with me?”

It sounds like both a request and a demand. It sounds like everything Richie has never allowed himself to imagine.

“Eds,” he breathes. He wants so badly to take Eddie into his arms, to kiss him senseless, but he’s painfully aware of everyone else in the hall, most of them already staring at Richie’s mess of a locker. “What about your mom?”

Eddie shrugs. “Fuck my mom,” he says simply.

“Well, yeah,” Richie says, trying not to sound choked up about it. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for _years_.”

Eddie crinkles his nose, but he looks like maybe he wants to laugh. “You’re disgusting,” he says.

“You love me,” Richie says back, automatic.

Eddie’s eyes go soft. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I do.”

And what else is Richie supposed to do with that except kiss him, right there in the middle of the hallway?

Someone whistles sharply. Mike’s voice says, “Oh, thank God.” They break apart fast, and their friends are suddenly around them, blocking them from the rest of the hall. They’re all smiling. None of them look at all surprised.

“Uh,” Richie says, and he drops his hands, like there’s any chance of salvaging this. “Hey, guys.”

Eddie laughs. “Rich, it’s okay.” And he takes Richie’s hand, lacing their fingers together, right there in front of God and everyone.

Richie stares down at their entwined hands. “I’m officially lost,” he announces. “Is this the twilight zone?”

“Nope!” Beverly says brightly. “Just the dumbass zone.”

“Did you really think we didn’t know?” Stan asks, his voice a smug drawl.

“You guys aren’t very good at keeping secrets,” Bill adds.

Richie’s a little miffed about that. He thought they were doing a great job. “It’s not my fault you guys can read minds.”

Mike levels him with an unimpressed stare. “I caught you staring at Eddie’s ass three times last week alone,” he says, drily. “It didn’t take a mindreader.”

Eddie squeezes Richie’s hand. “I asked them for help,” he explains, gesturing to the locker door.

Which makes sense, except…

“What about Rita?” Richie asks. “I thought you guys wanted…”

He trails off at the series of expressions his friends give him, somewhere between amusement and exasperation and guilt.

It clicks. “Oh,” he says, lamely. “Rita wasn’t real.”

“Stan thought you guys needed a push,” Ben says, sounding sort of apologetic.

Stan shrugs, unrepentant. “I was sick of watching you guys try to hide things from us.”

Richie nods, accepting that. “Won’t happen again,” he says. “From now on, there will be no more secrets.” He pauses, then slowly smiles. “Did you guys know Eddie’s birthmark is on his ass? Well, more like his upper thigh. But he makes this really neat sound if you bite down right the—”

“Beep beep, Richie!” Mike, Bill and Stan all say at the same time. Ben already has his hands clapped over his ears. Bev is grinning full-force. He expects Eddie to look furious, or maybe embarrassed, but when Richie looks down at him, he’s beaming, his entire face alight. Richie’s knees go a little weak, staring at him. But it’s no different than usual.

He gets it now. Hiding was never really an option, not for them. Richie Tozier loves Eddie Kaspbrak, and there’s absolutely nothing secret about it.


End file.
